


His Heart is Full of Trouble

by BrighteyedJill



Series: Rusalki and Recompense [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, But mostly hurt for now, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier to the rescue, M/M, Oral Sex, Possession (kinda), Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, The non-con is not really between Geralt and Jaskier, a little light drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: Jaskier happens upon Geralt while he's on the hunt for a rusalka, a water creature who likes to torment her victims. The encounter brings out some truths Geralt and Jakier had not intended to share.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Rusalki and Recompense [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627261
Comments: 60
Kudos: 882





	His Heart is Full of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Witcher May Come and Quills for their beta-ing assistance. 
> 
> The title comes from the Alexander Pushkin poem [“Rusalka”](https://www.fnord23.com/rusalka-the-mythical-slavic-mermaid/).

“Fishing again? You didn’t learn your lesson last time?”

Geralt sighed and cast his net into the river once more. “No.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Jaskier leaning against the slim trunk of a birch and holding his lute, grinning. “Why are you here?”

“The bar man in town said he sent you after a rusalka. Something about a sacrifice this time every year? It sounded like a good ballad in the making. ‘The Witcher and the Mermaid.’” He strummed a few chords and hummed speculatively, then sang, “At dawn one chilly springtide day, the Witcher did appear. He said--”

“Rusalkas aren’t mermaids.” Geralt pulled his net up across the sandy bank, then cast it again, further upstream to fight the pull of a river swollen from ice melt. “They’re the vestiges of wronged maidens who torture and murder any man they encounter.”

“Yes, but mermaid is easier to rhyme.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, and pointedly did not try to imagine what torturous poetic concoctions Jaskier had already planned. 

Jaskier strummed a few more chords, but thankfully didn’t try out any more lyrics. Instead, he said, “You left Oxenfurt in a hurry. You could have at least said goodbye this time.”

Geralt frowned but didn’t reply, fixing his attention on his net instead. He didn’t have a good excuse for leaving Oxenfurt without warning, other than a sudden fear that he had grown too comfortable with traveling in the bard’s company. Three months had been enough indulgence. Any more might have broken his resolve. After all, witchers were meant to be alone. 

“I suppose I should thank you for paying the innkeeper before you left this time.” Jaskier strummed another chord. 

“I always pay the--”

“Toussaint.”

Geralt sighed and pulled his dripping net in through the reeds and set about wrapping it into a neat bundle. “It’s too late in the morning to keep trying now. I’ll have to come back at sunset. Let’s go back to town, and I’ll buy you a meal in the meantime. “

“Oh, ho, bribery? You’re afraid I’ll spread tales of your dishonorable ways?” He slung his lute over his shoulder with its thick strap, and sauntered towards Geralt. “I could, you know. People like songs about scoundrels as much as songs about heroes.”

“Come along.” Geralt turned so Jaskier wouldn’t see his smile, and started back towards the road where Roach was tethered. 

Behind him, Jaskier said, “Oh, that’s-- Hello. Right, hi, you. You’re, uh-- well, those are very impressive breasts. More green than I’m used to, but--”

Geralt whirled to see Jaskier backing slowly away from the water, where the green-tinted, liquid form of a naked woman stepped daintily through the reeds, reaching for him. “Jaskier!”

“Terribly sorry, I have a prior dinner engagement. I’ll have to come back and be drowned another time.” In his haste, Jaskier tripped over a root and went down hard, lute tumbling away and arms flailing. 

Geralt pulled his silver sword from his back, glad he’d thought to carry it, and stalked towards the watery figure even as she swept forward to loom over Jaskier’s prone form. With a quick motion of his left hand, Geralt traced the Sign of Aard, forcing the rusalka back. She screamed in frustration, shrill as the call of diving bird, and Jaskier scrambled backwards across the forest floor. 

Geralt charged with his sword raised, and the rusalka rushed to meet him, a snarl of rage distorting her beautiful face. Geralt’s blade swept through her cleanly, meeting no resistance; she parted and formed around the blow like water, avoiding the silver entirely. Geralt spun on his heel, dodging the raking blow she aimed at his eyes with nails as sharp as thorns. 

Beyond the rusalka, Geralt saw Jaskier stumbling to his feet and drawing a short knife from his belt. An inarticulate groan of despair escaped Geralt. “Run, you idiot!” he shouted. 

The rusalka turned and flowed across the ground towards Jaskier. With a silent curse, Geralt leapt between her and the bard with his sword raised, but rather than attacking again, the rusalka grabbed Geralt by the arms and swept forward, dissolving into a torrent of water that forced its way down his throat and brought him to his knees.  
\--

Jaskier gripped the knife in his right hand for comfort-- as if that would do anything against a rusalka, stupid idea--and scanned the river bank to see if any other naked monster women were approaching. Geralt was still on his knees, bent over and swaying a bit back and forth. Perhaps whatever he’d done to destroy the rusalka had injured him. “Geralt?” Jaskier stepped towards him, minding his footing this time. “You all right?”

Slowly, Geralt pushed to his feet. He carefully slid his sword into the sheath on his back, and brushed his hands over his chest to smooth his armor. 

“Hello, Geralt? Did she strike you dumb? You really can’t blame me this time, because I--” Jaskier stopped, mouth hanging open mid-word, for when Geralt turned around and fixed his stare on Geralt, his eyes were a bright, eerie green. 

Geralt tilted his head to the side as he examined Jaskier, sweeping his eyes over him from head to boots. A smile spread over his face, but it was not the small, fond smile Geralt doled out sparingly, or the aftermath of a reluctant chuckle, but a broad, manic grin that looked wholly alien when written in his features.

“Uh, Geralt.” Jaskier swallowed and took a slow step backwards. Geralt advanced. “I’m afraid you’re not yourself.” Jaskier fumbled his knife back into his belt so he could hold up both hands, placatingly. “If you could just stay there, I can get us some help.” Jaskier put his foot back gingerly, making certain he was on firm footing before stepping back again. Geralt stepped forward.

“Ngh, all right,” Jaskier said. “Stop. Just stay there. And I will… do something.”

“You don’t want me?” Geralt’s voice sounded distorted, as if coming from a great depth, but it was still his voice, resonant and familiar. 

“Hu… “ Jaskier breathed out shakily. “This is not good.”

“You do.” Geralt took another step forward. “I can smell it on you now. I can smell it every time you're near.”

“You-- you can?” The uncannily sharp eyesight, the hearing that could catch the buzz of a single wasp in a crowded market, those Jaskier had known about. It had never occurred to him that Geralt could detect his carnal desires by scent. If it had, well, he wasn’t sure what he could have done except die of shame. Jaskier swallowed hard. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Why don’t you say something?” Geralt asked. “Why don’t you say, Geralt, I want you to take me. Geralt, I long to be on my knees for you. Geralt, I need you to master me.” Geralt stepped forward again, and this time when Jaskier stepped back, his back bumped up against a tree. 

“You are not Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice shaking only a little. 

“But I am not wrong. How long have you thought about this?” Suddenly, Geralt was right in front of Jaskier, holding him gently by the neck and tipping his face down to fit his mouth to Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier shuddered as Geralt’s right hand, sword calloused and rough, rose to his cheek and stroked his skin. Jaskier had imagined this happening in the wake of a battle of some kind, both of them sweaty and desperate, Geralt giving in to temptation at last while floating on a victory high. This slow, gentle seduction had not featured in Jaskier’s fantasies, because when Geralt had the leisure to think straight, he wouldn’t indulge himself like this. He would come up with every reason why he didn’t want Jaskier, and why Jaskier couldn’t possibly want him, the way he had for years. 

“This isn’t…” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s mouth. “I’m not…”

Geralt’s other hand released Jaskier’s neck and traced down his body until he cupped the front of Jaskier’s trousers, squeezing him gently. “Oh, I think you are, Jaskier.”

His name in that husky voice, warm and wanting rather than short and angry or even exasperatedly fond, sent a wave of arousal coursing through Jaskier’s blood. 

“Let me.” Geralt easily thumbed open the buttons on Jaskier’s trousers and delved a hand inside to slide against Jaskier’s suddenly-much-more-interested member. An exhalation escaped Jaskier that certainly was not a moan, and Geralt chuckled against Jaskier’s skin, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw. “Lovely. A pity he let this go to waste for so long.”

Geralt’s broad fingers curled around Jaskier’s cock and stroked him once from root to tip. Jaskier’s hand scrabbled for purchase on the tree behind him, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. 

“What have you imagined?” Geralt learned in close enough that Jaskier could measure the rapid pulse hammering in his own chest against the slow beat of Geralt’s heart. “What have you imagined him doing for you, to you?” Geralt pulled idly at Jaskier’s cock, making him shudder under Geralt’s scrutiny. 

Jaskier glared at Geralt, determined not to show fear. However, the green eyes were too disturbing to look at for long, too different from the warm yellow that now seemed natural to Jaskier. He dropped his eyes to Geralt’s mouth, set in an easy smile. 

“Hmm, I have an idea.” Geralt sank gracefully to his knees, never looking away from Jaskier’s face. He tugged at Jaskier’s trousers, pulling them down to Jaskier’s ankles with much less trouble than Jaskier had taken putting them on this morning. Jaskier had only a moment to take a firmer grip on the tree before Geralt’s mouth closed around his cock. 

Jaskier sighed at the inviting heat of Geralt’s mouth. His knees trembled, but held. And yes, he had pictured Geralt on his knees, using his mouth, but only as the most idle kind of fancy. Geralt wouldn’t subjugate himself like that, surely, even if he had wanted Jaskier. 

Geralt pushed his mouth down around Jaskier’s cock, taking him to the root. Jaskier gasped, and his hips thrust forward involuntarily, seeking more. Immediately, Gerlat’s hands came up to pin Jaskier’s hips to the tree, holding him in place with implacable strength. From there, Jaskier could only gasp for breath as Geralt sucked him in earnest, bobbing his head to take Jakier in with very little effort. Perhaps he wasn’t as inexperienced at this task as Jaskier had presumed. 

Throughout, Geralt watched Jaskier closely, seemingly taking note of what Jaskier liked best. He put together a pattern of licking, sucking, and stroking that soon had Jaskier panting. When Geralt took him in to the hilt and drew back to tongue relentlessly against the head of Jaskier’s cock, Jaskier bit back a shout as his climax shuddered through him. 

Geralt swallowed his issue neatly, pulled his mouth off Jaskier’s cock, and looked up at him with an amused expression, eerily akin to one Jaskier had seen on Geralt’s face before, usually when he was in a particularly indulgent mood. “You make this so easy.” The voice still sounded off, wrong somehow, and Jaskier’s stomach twisted, dragging him out of his euphoric haze. 

Jaskier leaned his head back against the tree, pressing his eyes shut. “You can’t--” 

“Would it surprise you to know he wants you, too?”

Jaskier stared down at Geralt--not really Geralt--whose vivid green eyes met and held his. “He doesn’t,” Jaskier said.

“He is more disciplined in schooling his emotions than some. Yours pour out of you like water from a leaky bucket. He couldn’t avoid knowing that you want him. That made the question of whether he wanted you, too, a more pressing one.”

Jaskier straightened his back. “I’ve never asked him to--”

“And now you’ll never need to. See, I can be… nice.” Geralt dug his fingers into Jaskier’s hips and twisted, turning Jaskier to face the tree. 

Jaskier stumbled a little with his trousers bunched around his ankles, but Geralt held him up easily, tugging his hips back so Jaskier had to lean forward to hold himself up against the tree. His whole body still felt heavy and wrung out, so he only slumped against the bark, mind still stuttering along the path of _Geralt wants me?_ , until he felt Geralt pry apart his buttocks and lick wetly across his hole. 

Jaskier yelped and tried to jerk away, but Geralt slapped him smartly on the hip. “Settle down. You’ll enjoy this.”

Jaskier braced one arm against the tree and pressed his forehead against it with his eyes squeezed shut. Unfortunately, that meant he had nothing to distract him from the next sweep of Geralt’s tongue. Pleasure sparked through him at the strange sensation, and Jaskier’s spent cock even gave an interested twitch. He hadn’t imagined Geralt would do this. Not that Geralt was any blushing innocent, but he never gave much thought to pleasing others in the normal course of things, and so Jaskier had rather imagined his lovemaking to be the brief, perfunctory sort. But here Geralt was teasing Jaskier’s hole with the tip of his tongue, then giving it a firm swipe, then pushing inside, working Jaskier open with his mouth, and Jaskier was forced to reexamine his assumptions. 

Before long, Jaskier was painting again, shamelessly pushing back against Geralt. Jaskier’s cock had started to rise once more, bobbing heavily with every rock of his hips. Jaskier shook his trousers off one foot to spread his legs further. Soon, Geralt’s blunt fingers vied for space at Jaskier’s entrance, pressing in gently, then giving way again for Geralt’s tongue. Geralt’s other hand ventured between Jaskier’s legs to stroke his balls and caress his hardening shaft. 

Jaskier could almost imagine they were in a comfortable inn somewhere, with several bottles of wine put away between them, and holding back any noise to avoid scandalizing the other lodgers. Maybe Geralt would want to tease him like this, keeping Jaskier on edge and at his mercy. Maybe he’d want Jaskier so wet and open for him that he could enter him as easily as breathing, and move against him slowly, so as not to make the bed creak, until Jaskier begged him for more, begged him for release. 

Behind him, Geralt pushed to his feet, keeping two fingers inside Jaskier, and reached around to take a firm grip on Jaskier’s cock. He leaned forward to whisper in Jaskier’s ear. “I know what it is you’ve been waiting for. What you really want is to have me inside you, isn’t it?”

A shudder passed through Jaskier’s body, and his cock throbbed in Geralt’s hand. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”

Abruptly, Geralt pulled Jaskier upright. With quick, fluid movements, Geralt settled himself on the ground with his back to the tree and tugged Jaskier down to straddle him. Jaskier fumbled at the lacing of Geralt’s breeches until Geralt batted his hands away and ripped them open himself. Geralt drew out his cock, impressively hard and dark with blood. Jaskier had seen it before, of course-- he hadn’t been staring at Geralt in the bath, it had just been right there for anyone to see. Up close, it looked even bigger, the weighty crown of it already glistening and wet, and the shaft barely encircled by Geralt’s hand. 

With his other hand at the small of Jaskier’s back, Geralt guided him up onto his knees. Jaskier braced his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and pushed down, feeling Geralt’s cock nudge at his hole. Jaskier exhaled and bore down harder, then gasped as Geralt’s cock slid into him, spearing him open. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut as the stretch was abruptly too much. 

But then one of Geralt’s hands was caressing his cheek, and the other was tugging skillfully at Jaskier’s cock, reviving his flagging arousal. Jaskier relaxed, sliding further onto Geralt until he was seated firmly against Geralt’s muscular thighs, with Geralt’s cock fully sheathed inside him. 

“You’ve wanted this for a long time,” Geralt said, swiping a thumb over Jaskier’s lips. “Do you like having him inside of you?”

Jaskier nodded vaguely, leaning into the warmth of Geralt’s touch. His skin was flushed, his cock throbbing, his whole body singing with an overflow of sensation. Geralt’s hands moved to hold Jaskier by the hips and guide him up and down, bouncing on Geralt’s hard cock. Jaskier threw his head back, gasping for air as he clung to Geralt’s shoulders. 

Jaskier realized he was going to climax again, like an intemperate youth. He wondered, hysterically, how long witchers could last, and if they could keep on with this all day. He looked down with a quip ready to his lips, but then froze, muscles stiffening and breath leaving him in a rush. 

Geralt wore a smile of intense satisfaction that was all wrong. Geralt might sometimes be pleased, but hardly ever satisfied, and never smug, not like this. Jaskier slowly came to a rest atop Geralt, staring into the green eyes with growing dismay. 

“He doesn’t want this, does he?” Jaskier asked. 

“I have told you he does.” He raised an eyebrow, and the expression was so like one Geralt would actually use that Jaskier felt a flash of anger. 

“Well, you’re a monster,” Jaskier snapped.

“So is he.”

“No he isn’t. And I won’t help you.” Jaskier tried to climb off, but Geralt held him easily. 

“Would you rather I take you by force?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said evenly, though the glint of eagerness in Geralt’s eyes--the rusalka’s eye-- turned his knees to water. 

“You’re wrong about this, too,” Geralt said. “But I’ll do as you ask.” With no further warning, Geralt shoved him to the side. 

Jaskier landed on his back in the dirt and dead leaves. Almost immediately, Geralt was upon him, grabbing him by the front of his jerkin and delivering a powerful blow with a first to Jaskier’s face. His head snapped back, his body went limp, and Jaskier realized with a kind of detached fascination how much of his strength Geralt had been holding back the one other time he’d hit him. 

While Jaskier’s vision was still clearing, Geralt manhandled him onto his front. He pulled Jaskier up onto his knees and knelt behind him, shoving Jaskier’s shoulders down so his ass was raised invitingly. Without a word, Geralt shoved into Jaskier, knocking a pained whimper out of him. Geralt’s cock breached him more deeply in this position, and it felt like far too much to take. 

“Wait,” Jaskier rasped, but Geralt only grabbed him by the waist and began slamming into him recklessly, heedless of Jaskier’s discomfort. Too much, too fast-- Jaskier’s insides burned as he writhed under Geralt’s thrusts. “Geralt, stop.”

Jaskier managed to push up onto his elbows and tried to pull free, away from the relentless onslaught. With a growl, Geralt shoved Jasker forward so he landed on his belly in the dirt. Jaskier had only a moment to appreciate the reprieve before Geralt shoved his legs apart and lay down on top of him. He entered Jaskier without a pause and again began rutting into him at full force. 

Pinned as he was, Jaskier couldn’t even move with the thrusts, but only endure. His hands clawed at the sandy ground, and he thought of trying to retrieve the knife from his belt until Geralt grabbed his hands and pulled them up painfully behind his back. Geralt easily held both Jaskier’s wrists with one hand, and pressed down against Jaskier to keep him in place while he plowed into him again and again, breaking him open to take his pleasure. 

“Please, Geralt. Don’t,” Jaskier wheezed, but he could barely hear the words himself. With Geralt’s weight crushing him, he could barely draw a shallow breath. 

“I told you he was a monster,” Geralt rumbled into Jaskier’s ear. Then he bent his head and bit Jaskier at the junction of neck and shoulder until he screamed, thrashing weakly. Geralt let go and laughed as he fucked Jaskier in long, forceful thrusts that pushed him further into the dirt. 

How long can a witcher last, Jaskier thought again, this time despairingly. He shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing another painful breath. 

Then the weight left him. A hand gripped Jaskier’s shoulders and pushed him onto his back. He was so thoroughly occupied with filling his lungs that he didn’t see Geralt standing over him, hand a blur on his cock, until he felt seed splashing onto his face and neck. He tried to pull away, but a boot against his shoulder pinned him until Geralt had finished painting Jaskier with his issue. The boot disappeared, and Geralt stepped back. 

At once, Jaskier curled onto his side, wheezing and wiping with the back of his hand at the mess of dirt, blood, and come on his face. Then he lay still, drawing in breath after deep, shuddering breath and feeling the ache radiating outwards from his hole. He reached down weakly to catch at the waist of his trousers, and managed to get both his legs back into them and pull them up, covering his nakedness.  
He didn’t have time to sit around getting hysterical, Jaskier told himself firmly. There was still a monster to fight. After shaking his head in an ill-advised attempt to clear it, he forced himself to sit up. There was no one among the trees in the direction of the road. When he turned to look towards the river bank, he saw the same greenish, faintly translucent figure of a naked woman as before. She was tracing one slender finger across the shoulders of a man-- Geralt-- who stood blank-eyed and unmoving. The rusalka backed towards the river, her feet melding with the flow of the water as soon as she stepped in. She beckoned, and Geralt staggered forward as if pulled by a string.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called. His raspy voice was little more than a whisper. He coughed and tried again. “Geralt!”

Geralt didn’t stop his slow progress forward, but the rusalka heard and turned to give Jaskier a smile. “Goodbye, bard.” Her voice had the same faraway quality as Geralt’s had earlier, but high and musical like water over rushes. “You’ll have to be grateful for what little of him I let you have. He is mine now.” She retreated further into the water. Geralt followed obediently, already up to his waist. 

Jaskier pushed to his feet, ignoring protesting muscles and his aching head. Holding his trousers up with one hand, he stumbled towards the river bank. Almost immediately, he tripped and fell, but gritted his teeth and rose again. Geralt had waded in nearly to his shoulder, too far from the bank to reach. The rusalka had disappeared under the surface. 

With a snarl of frustration, Jaskier glanced around for anything that might help. On the bare, sandy ground was the net Geralt had been using, with its attached rope coiled neatly beside it. Jaskier snatched up the lot and forced himself into a shambling run in the direction of the road. 

He was only on the path a few moments before he caught sight of Roach. One-handed, Jaskier unwrapped the reins from the branch to which Roach had been tethered, and tugged the horse towards the river. “Come on, friend. I need your help.”  
\--

Geralt kicked ineffectually at the reeds tangling his feet. The sloping bank of the river offered no purchase. That was the rusalka’s habit, after all: lure her victim into the water and then make it impossible to climb out. The form of the rusalka was still visible even underwater, and she stroked a hand through Geralt’s hair as he struggled and choked, patiently waiting for him to drown. 

Then a mass of cords plunged into the water beside Geralt. The rusalka drew back, baring her teeth in displeasure. It was the net Geralt had been using, woven through with silver-chased thread for catching magical creatures. He clutched the net with his left hand, twisting his arm around to wrap it securely. With his right, he drew the silver sword from its sheath on his back. His movements were slowed by the water, but he managed to hold the sword in a defensive grip before the net began to pull at him, dragging him towards the surface. 

The rusalka howled her outrage, muffled only slightly by the press of water, and charged Geralt. He lashed out with his sword as the net pulled him on. She was part of the river, and it was a part of her, and so she couldn’t dodge him as she’d done on land. The silver blade cleaved through her center. Her expression morphed into one of horror as she looked straight at Geralt. Then all at once she dissolved in a burst of bubbles that were shortly swept downstream.

When Geralt’s head broke the surface of the water, he coughed and spat before drawing in a breath and choking again, and the cycle repeated. He’d been pulled out of the water completely and onto the sandy bank before he heard Jaskier saying, “Whoa there. That’s enough, girl.”

Geralt turned his head weakly to look. The rope attached to the net had been slung across Roach’s saddle, and on the far side of the horse, Jaskier stood holding the end of the rope and the reins, and patting Roach’s neck. When Jaskier glanced at him, Geralt could see his face was smeared with dirt, blood, and something else. Before Geralt could puzzle out why, he was seized with a fit of coughing, and leaned forward to hack more river water from his lungs. He felt Jaskier’s hand on his shoulder, and after a last, wet cough, turned to reassure him. 

Jaskier’s eyes, wary as if expecting a blow, brought the memories of the past hour flooding back to Geralt’s mind: Jaskier’s skin bare under his fingers, Jaskier grunting in pain under him, Jaskier saying, “Geralt, stop” while he carried on. He jerked away from Jaskier’s touch and stared at him, mouth open for an apology or plea for forgiveness, but he couldn’t make the words come. 

Jaskier snatched his hand away and narrowed his eyes at Geralt. “Is it you?” His hand drifted to the knife on his belt. 

“The rusalka is dead.” Geralt hoped that would be comforting, even if it didn’t fix any other of their immediate problems. 

They stared at each other another moment until Geralt forced himself to his feet. Jaskier rose also, slightly unsteady and grasping the thin trunk of a young tree for balance. 

“You need a healer,” Geralt said. 

“That can wait. We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you freeze to death.” Jaskier flinched. “We need to get you warm, I mean.”

“Take Roach.” Geralt gave Jaskier a wide berth as he circled around to the horse. He grabbed the bag that held his sword and potions, then took up the reins from where they’d fallen and held them out to Jaskier. “Go back into town. There are a few hundred oren in the saddlebag. That ought to pay for a healer and whatever else you’ll need for the next few weeks at least.”

Jaskier folded his arms across his chest. “And you’ll be?”

“Walking to the next town.” He should be able to make it by nightfall. Someone there would let him have a room on credit, likely as not. 

“The next town,” Jaskier repeated. He was scowling.

Geralt looked at the ground. His clothes were soaked with river water, but he could still smell Jaskier’s blood on his knuckles, Jaskier’s come streaked on his skin. “And beyond that, as soon as I can manage. You won’t have to see me again.”

“Roach can carry both of us.” Jaskier started towards him.

Geralt held up a hand. “Jaskier--”

“It wasn’t you.” Jaskier stopped an arm’s length away and folded his arms over his chest again. This time, though, the gesture seemed intended more for comfort than to express his resolve. “It was the rusalka. That’s obvious. At least you have that excuse.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Geralt said, frowning. 

An exhalation escaped Jaskier that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t sounded so despairing.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried. “I didn’t--”

“We’ll both go back to town, and I’ll make sure you don’t end up frozen by the side of the road.” Jaskier nodded decisively and looked up at Geralt again. 

“If you like,” Geralt said slowly. He could always slip away once the bard was asleep. And it would be nice to hear a healer confirm that none of the hurt he had caused Jaskier was life threatening. 

Geralt heaved himself onto Roach’s back, only somewhat stiffly. Jaskier didn’t refuse the hand Geralt offered to help him mount. Jaskier said nothing more as Geralt urged Roach onto the road, and Geralt wasn’t about to prompt him. He fully expected Jaskier never to speak to him again after this. But though Geralt was soaked through, Jaskier wrapped his arms against Geralt’s waist and leaned against him as they rode back to town.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments are much appreciated, and feed the author's hard little heart. And never fear, a more comfort-heavy sequel is already in the works.


End file.
